


Oh, you’re my best friend

by sameboots



Series: The 'Kiss Me' Series [4]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, More like treacle, Mutual Pining, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 08:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20355199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sameboots/pseuds/sameboots
Summary: In which Jaime and Brienne meet during intramural football, are subsequently kicked out of intramural football, Jaime acts the hero, and somehow they end up being best friends.—Jaime's first mistake was falling in love with his best friend.His second was being stupid enough to kiss her.





	Oh, you’re my best friend

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to bethanyactually for a speedy beta! It’s been a tough couple of weeks and I needed some cleansing fluff.

Jaime's first mistake was falling in love with his best friend. 

His second was being stupid enough to kiss her. 

\--

Jaime met Brienne their Sophomore year of college. They were on rival intramural flag football teams, or they were until the day the escalating competition between the two of them resulted in them both being covered in mud and blood and summarily booted from the league. After that, there was little to do but resent one another. 

Then one fateful dorm party ended with a broken hand for Jaime, a broken nose for Ron Connington, and a furiously angry Brienne railing at Jaime while he was high as a kite on painkillers. Jaime still only has a vague memory of Brienne threateningly leaning over him to hiss that she could take care of herself, him mumbling something about not wanting her to have to, and her blinking rapidly and begrudgingly saying, "Thank you." 

At least, he was pretty sure that's what had happened. 

Either way, a couple days later, Brienne showed up at his dorm room with a recorder for his lectures and an offer to help with transcribing notes and his homework until his cast was off. It took weeks for her to loosen up around him, and the first time he made her smile -- well, he should've known what was happening, what that triumphant warm feeling was. But he'd never felt it before, and he hadn't earned anyone else's friendship the hard way as he had with Brienne, so he chalked it up to the thrill of victory. 

It wasn't until that jackass Tormund Giantsbane grabbed Brienne and kissed her at a party Junior year that it hit Jaime like a ton of bricks: no one should be kissing Brienne but him. 

Because he was in love with Brienne. 

Madly, hopelessly, foolishly in love with his best friend. 

\--

He was in love with her, she barely tolerated him most days, and that was okay. Brienne wasn't the first girl that Jaime had loved more than they loved him back. Probably, she wouldn't be the last. And if she was, that was -- it was too pathetic to imagine himself at seventy years old, all creaking joints and maudlin thoughts about the one that got away. 

It was fine. 

For four years, it was fine.

Until he fucked it up. 

Jaime bought Brienne tickets to the hockey championship game seven as a birthday gift. If he maybe sprang for way-too-expensive lower bowl seats right behind the opposing goal, well. Jaime's dad was richer than anyone had any right to be, and Jaime wanted to do something nicer for Brienne than another jersey or piece of random memorabilia. 

She protested, of course, but she still went. And a few hours, several beers, and two hot dogs later, their team finally scored the championship-winning goal. 

There, in the heat of the moment, with the goal horn blaring in their ears and everyone high-fiving around them, Brienne hugged Jaime so hard his ribs hurt and he impulsively, stupidly kissed her. 

The whole world went silent for just a few seconds and then her hands rested on his chest and _shoved_. 

Brienne looked at him like she'd been slapped, cheeks flushed from more than just excitement, and her eyes swimming with confusion and, of all things, hurt. She turned and started shoving her way through the crowd before he had a chance to get his bearings again. By the time he took off after her, he'd somehow lost all six feet three inches of her in the crowd. 

\--

_Jaime: Did you get home_

_ **Brienne: Yeah** _

_Jaime: Can we talk please_

_ **Brienne: I have work in the morning i'll call you tomorrow** _

\--

But she didn't. She didn't call him the next day and she didn't call him the day after. He finally cracked the third day and just texted her, _I'm sorry can we please talk_

She didn't reply. He didn't even get the three flashing dots to reassure him that she'd tried. 

\--

It was a terrible idea, but Jaime found himself knocking on Brienne's apartment door at ten o'clock on a Friday night all the same. He tried not to think about what it meant that he was reasonably certain she'd be home, and that he never has plans that don't involve her, too. 

He listened as her footsteps approached the door and waved at the peephole, knowing that careful, cautious Brienne wouldn't open the door without checking. 

When she finally opened the door, his stomach swooped. The sight of her face, which he'd been told (and vaguely remembers thinking himself) is odd and homely, was like coming home -- like a cup of hot cocoa, or being wrapped up in a favorite sweater. 

"What are you doing here?" She sounded tired, not accusatory. as she leaned against the door, hand wrapped around the knob, and looked at him warily. 

"I --" he stopped, paused, took a breath and tried again. "I -- can I come in?"

Brienne hesitated like she might say no, but instead she took a step back and pulled the door with her, letting him into an apartment as familiar to him as his own. 

She closed the door and when he turned, she had her back against it, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. 

"Why won't you talk to me?" It came out more abruptly than he meant for it to. He’d had a whole speech planned. There were things he meant to say, a way to ease her into his confession. And instead, he startled her with a vehement, pathetic question. 

"I've been busy." 

"You've been busy." Jaime arched an eyebrow at her. "Come on, Brienne." Her eyes flicked away from his face, the easiest tell of all that she'd lied. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?” 

Brienne flinched at the words before mumbling, "I know. You said."

"It was an accident." He tried again. "I was excited. It was --"

"Please stop," she interrupted him. She finally looked at him again, her expression so pained it made his stomach roil. "You've already explained. I know you didn't mean it. I just -- I need some space."

Jaime truly felt nauseated. He could see her drifting away, closing herself off to him the way she did everyone else, and it was his own damn fault for causing it. 

"I need to say one more thing and then -- then I'll leave you alone," he said, his hands trembling, heart dancing a furious rhythm in his chest. "I _did_ mean it. I just didn't mean to do it _then_, like _that_. I didn't mean to -- to ruin us. I wasn't thinking, and when I looked at you, I couldn't stop myself anymore." 

Brienne stared at him for the longest minute of Jaime's life. "That was more than one thing," she whispered.

Jaime barked out a laugh, harsh and pained, feeling the sting of rejection like a slap across the face. He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'll leave you --" 

"Wait," Brienne interrupted. "Give me a second, okay?" She took a step away from her door, toward him, and haltingly walked up to him. 

"You're shaking," he murmured, brushing a hand along the line of her shoulder, resisting the urge to run his thumb over where her pulse fluttered against the pale skin of her neck. "Why are you shaking?"

"Because --" She took a deep breath, and he watched as her shoulders squared and her jaw set in that familiar stubborn, determined line. "Because I'm about to do something I've wanted to do for a long time, and I'm scared."

And then she kissed him. 

A little awkwardly, a bit too firm, her teeth pressed harshly to his bottom lip. It was perfect. He let his hand come up to cup her face, and gentled the kiss, caressing her cheek until he could feel her relax bit by bit. 

When she finally broke away from him, resting her forehead against his temple, her breath shuddering warm and damp across his cheek, she murmured, "I've wanted to do that for a really long time."

He pulled away, staring up at her, confusion drawing his brows together. "Then why did you run away and ignore my texts?"

Brienne blushed furiously, her eyes shifting like they wanted to look away for a moment. "Because I didn't think -- you're my best friend. You're -- you're _you_."

"I don't get it."

She rolled her eyes. "If I have to spell it out for you...you are _ridiculously_ hot." 

"So?" He was, if possible, even more perplexed than he had been before she tried to explain why she ran away. 

"So, I'm not," she went on, slowly, as if she was worried he'd lost his capacity to understand spoken language. Her face closed off a bit, her mouth twisting sadly. "Tens don't pick twos." 

Jaime had never been more offended in his life. If anyone else had dared suggest Brienne was a two, he would've punched them hard enough to break his hand again. 

"You are not a _two_, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard." 

"Jaime --"

"No," this time, he interrupted her. "Listen. I don't give a fuck what anyone else says. I don't give a fuck what anyone else does. I have been absolutely fucking crazy about you for years now and if you feel the same way then I just can't figure out why we're talking instead of kissing."

She had looked away from him somewhere in the middle of this declaration, but she snorted, her mouth tilting up at the corner in a soft smile. 

"I just want you to be prepared," she whispered. "People are going to be confused. We just don't make any sense."

Jaime cupped her face with both of his hands, pressing gently until she raised her eyes to meet his again. "Look at me while I say this, directly in the eye, okay?" 

She nodded. 

"I don't give a fuck about anyone else in the world or what they think. I love you. Apparently, you love me."

"I do," she interrupted. 

Jaime couldn't stop his face-splitting grin. "So, I'd really like to stop talking about other people and start talking about tackling you onto your couch and kissing you until our mouths hurt."

She'd barely gotten, "Okay," out of her mouth, before Jaime had his arm around her waist, tugging her with him to her sofa, and catching her lips in a kiss deep enough he felt it in his toes.


End file.
